


to front only the essential facts of life

by becka



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can't even go for a walk in the woods without encountering supernatural bullshit. Derek does what the situation calls for. Nobody's super happy about it. Features unexplained sex pollen (and consent issues stemming from it), porn, random knotting, and awkward conversation. Title from Walden, although I don't think Thoreau ever had this problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to front only the essential facts of life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [affectingly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectingly/gifts).



> I started this for affectingly while I was drunk at Wincon, and I hope editing has made it more coherent, at least a little, because I love Amber a lot and I want her to have nice things. Many thanks to jrho for checking out my grammar. Also fulfills the "Drugs/aphrodisiacs" square on my kink_bingo card.

So this one time, there was this weird plant in the woods, and as soon as Stiles got close to it, it spurted weird dusty, glittery stuff all over him. And then—seriously, fuck his life—suddenly all he wanted was a cock in his ass. And that was a little difficult to get in the middle of a nature preserve. He was pretty sure that Scott would have helped a brother out if asked because a. Stiles was his BFF and b. Stiles had a pretty nice ass. But Scott was in Seattle with his mom for some family thing, which was way farther than he could be expected to travel just because Stiles needed cock. 

Stiles looked up from the forest floor as a shadow passed over him, and Derek was standing right there. Of course he was, scowling as per usual but also definitely the closest person with a dick. Stiles didn’t even have anything witty to say to him because he was still writhing around on the ground dosed by the weird plant thing, which had shriveled up after discharging its... whatever. Pollen. The entire experience was the sort of stuff that had scared Stiles shitless after he saw _Little Shop of Horrors_ at an impressionable age, plants that just don’t fucking act like plants.

He couldn’t control the thrusting of his hips, the trembling of his thighs. His body was doing a whole lot of things he didn’t have any say in, and it was all he could do to keep his legs closed. “You should maybe go,” said Stiles, pressing a hand over his crotch and squirming pathetically. He didn’t bother to ask how Derek got there because it sort of followed that this had to be the most embarrassing experience possible, and Derek Hale could only make it worse.

“You need help,” said Derek, looking pretty calm considering. Which, like, fuck him because the entire lower half of Stiles’ body basically felt like it was on fire.

“Nope,” said Stiles. “No help. Doing just fine.” Sometime in there he had opened the fly of his jeans without even thinking about it, and he was fondling his dick through his boxer briefs. “Just, uh, need a moment by myself.” He could totally handle this on his own, if he could just get a hand in his shorts, maybe a couple of fingers in his ass, just get himself off.

“Look, that’s a,” Stiles really had no idea what the really long word Derek said was due to the “feeling like he was on fire” thing. “You’re going to die unless…”

“Wait, die?! Jesus Christ!” Stiles took a deep breath, forcing down panic and still-skyrocketing arousal. Fuck every single bit of this magic supernatural crap. “Unless somebody fucks me, right? Like a broody werewolf who might bite my head off, literally and figuratively, halfway through?” He felt out of breath just getting through a normal sentence, loopy and lightheaded, and Derek was seeming like a more attractive prospect by the second. Especially compared to actual death.

Derek scowled even more. Stiles wanted to tell him his face would freeze like that, but it clearly already had. “Okay, so I really, really don’t want to die,” Stiles conceded finally. “Come here.”

Derek hesitated, which was just so unfair, because Stiles could be on the verge of the most humiliating death possible. Alone in the woods begging a werewolf to fuck him. It would have been funny if it weren’t so awful. “Seriously, Derek. Please.”

Derek reached down and picked Stiles up like he weighed exactly nothing, slinging him over his shoulder. His hand rested on Stiles’ lower back, warm and strong, and Stiles made a pathetic little noise because he really wanted Derek touching him all of a sudden. “What are you…” he started to ask.

“Could you just not talk for once?” said Derek irritably. “I’m taking you somewhere safer. We don’t need to be out here alone right now. Not with you like this.”

He took Stiles to his burnt-out shell of a house, and Stiles breathed in the old charcoal scent of the empty rooms as Derek carried him through them. It was getting hard to think, and there were black spots dancing in his peripheral vision. Stiles wondered if he would black out before he died, or if he would just feel muddier and muddier until he finally stopped breathing.

Derek laid him down on a sleeping bag on the unforgiving wood floor, and Stiles was struck by a moment’s pity because Derek actually did live here, and that sucked. And then Derek’s hands were on Stiles’ hips pulling down his jeans, and Stiles squirmed with dumb need, moaning into a mouthful of slick nylon. He figured Derek would make it quick, just enough of a fuck to satisfy the stupid plant and then done. But then Derek was parting the cheeks of his ass and fitting his mouth over Stiles’ flexing hole, and it was dirty and hot and not quick at all. Derek’s tongue pressed wetly into him, and Stiles had never realized anything in the world could feel so good. He humped down into the sleeping bag and came before he could even process what was happening. But his dick didn’t even go down.

It was simultaneously horrible and kind of awe-inspiring lying there in a pool of his own come and still wanting pretty much everything Derek could give him. And Derek was giving him pretty much everything, licking at him deep and slow, opening him up, and Stiles realized hazily that that was the point because Derek had to get his cock in there somehow. Which was unfathomable to Stiles, still, even when he felt split-slick and raw, with his asshole stretching easily around the two fingers Derek fed into him. God, his stupid body was just doing so many things he hadn’t asked it to, and how dare it feel that good to have Derek fingering his ass.

“It’s the pollen,” Derek said, and Stiles realized he must have said some part of that out loud. “It’ll be over soon.”

He pressed down into Stiles, holding him to the sleeping bag, cock grinding into the wet crack of his ass. And Stiles didn’t really want it to be over, not soon, not ever. The head of Derek’s cock rubbed over his hole, and he moaned and squirmed some more, but he couldn’t just get it into him. And then Derek’s hands were there, parting him, guiding him, opening him up on something so much thicker than a finger, and Stiles couldn’t believe how good it felt. Hot and smooth and right inside him, like his body was made for this. He clenched around the fullness of Derek’s cock splitting him apart, felt his own cock blurting precome onto the mess of the sleeping bag. He was going to owe Derek a sleeping bag, for sure, in addition to his life or whatever, and he didn’t even care. He pushed his ass back onto Derek’s cock, letting pure need do the work for him, Derek holding nearly still as Stiles worked himself deeper.

He was whimpering and moaning and breathless with how much he needed Derek to fuck him, actually fuck him, instead of just holding himself so still in Stiles’ ass like some kind of crazy sex toy. It was as though he figured if he just let Stiles fuck himself, Derek wouldn’t bear any part of the responsibility. That was almost fair, Stiles thought, with the part of his brain that could even do any thinking, because this was all his fault for getting sprayed by that stupid plant. “Please,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. “Work with me here.”

He came a second time on Derek’s first deep thrust, which rubbed right up against his prostate and turned his stomach to water. He wanted to cry, felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes because he was pretty sure nothing in the history of the world had ever felt this good before. And then Derek grabbed onto his hips and started fucking him harder. His cock was hard and thick in Stiles’ ass, and it just seemed to be getting thicker, but Stiles was so gone with pleasure he didn’t even care.

“This may hurt,” said Derek, and Stiles made a not-caring-at-all noise because he didn’t think anything could possibly hurt right then. Except for how it was as though Derek suddenly tried to shove a baseball up his ass.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” cried Stiles, fingers clawing at the slipper sleeping bag. “What the- What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a werewolf thing,” Derek explained, which helped not at all until Stiles remembered something he had learned about dogs from a note passed around in study hall in ninth grade, something he hadn’t really bothered thinking about until now.

“You have a knot,” said Stiles. “What the fuck?” Derek was still most of the way inside him, and Stiles was wriggling, hesitating, but still needy and turned on, and it was like Derek was waiting for permission to sink his thick knot into Stiles’ not-so-virgin-anymore asshole. 

“It’ll be worse if I wait,” said Derek, sounding genuinely sorry.

Stiles scrunched up his face and grabbed at his dick for the first time, and he said, “Okay. Okay, yeah. Fuck,” tilting his hips up a little more.

And it did hurt, even though he was expecting the stretch of it, his hole straining to take all of Derek’s cock, and holy shit, his body was confused. It was simultaneously the best thing he’d ever felt, being so full and feeling Derek right there with him, and so awful and strange and just, not something his ass was ever supposed to do. Stiles moaned and gripped even tighter at the sleeping bag, focused on opening and letting Derek into him, the thickest part of the knot stretching him until tears stung his eyes. And then Derek was all the way in him, settled so deep Stiles felt him with every breath.

The knot was still growing, dragging against the sore rim of Stiles’ hole, and Derek couldn’t pull out of him now, could barely even rock into him any more. Stiles made little punched out noises that weren’t anything like words, and his body moved with Derek’s, a quick steady rhythm. He wasn’t ready for the way Derek draped over him as he came, the way his teeth grazed Stiles’ shoulder not quite hard enough to draw blood.

Stiles was still panting, still hard, but the urgency seemed to lessen as Derek rolled him onto his side, settling Stiles carefully against the sleeping bag, his knot still stretching Stiles’ hole. Derek started to jerk him off slowly, in long, lazy strokes, and Stiles’ hips rocked towards his hand. It seemed impossible that he was still hard, more so that his dick was still pumping out precome like a faucet, and Stiles wondered if he would eventually pass out from dehydration and what Derek would do if he did.

“Is it getting better?” Derek asked, almost casual, as if this was the sort of thing he did all the time, fucking guys who couldn’t even walk around in the woods minding their own business without getting attacked by plants.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not as crazy now.”

“Good,” said Derek. “Then you probably won’t die.”

Stiles was grateful in spite of himself because he really wasn’t ready to die, like, at all, and he couldn’t actually have handled this on his own. But he didn’t say anything. It would have been too weird, while Derek’s cock was still in him, knot pulling tightly against the edges of his hole. Stiles pushed his ass back, trying to bend into Derek’s hand at the same time, wearily sure that he was about to come again.

Afterwards, his balls ached, and his dick actually started to go soft, which seemed like some kind of miracle. Derek’s body was still draped around his, and Derek rubbed a rough palm over Stiles’ balls, cupping and lifting them. It hurt a little, since he was so sensitive to the slightest touch, but he didn’t mind it, didn’t even mind that Derek was basically cuddling him, his breathing soft and steady against the side of Stiles’ neck. Derek was still inside him when he fell asleep.

 

Stiles woke up in his own bed, sore and disoriented. He couldn’t really piece together what had happened except that he had been in the woods and it was dusk, and now he was home and it was pitch dark outside. Then he noticed Derek Hale skulking in his desk chair, lurking in the long shadows, and the last few hours started to flood back. “Shit,” said Stiles. He wanted to touch his aching asshole, see whether it felt as hot and tender under his fingertips, but he didn’t really want to do it with Derek watching him. He didn’t really want to do anything with Derek watching him.

“You should be all right,” Derek said stiffly. “All the pollen should have worked itself out of your bloodstream by now.”

“Good,” said Stiles. “Yeah. Thanks.” He paused, rubbed at his eyes. “Seriously, thanks. I know I’m too pretty to die, but if you hadn’t been there, the universe would not have given a shit. And even when my life is terrible it’s not that bad.” He didn’t bring up the fact that Derek had had to hold him down and fuck him in the woods as part of keeping him alive, and he wondered if he could safely keep the topic of Derek Hale’s weird wolf cock from ever coming up in his life again.

Derek glared at him, in his baleful Derek way, and said, “You’re welcome.” He was obviously considering saying something else, and in spite of Stiles’ prospective ban on ever mentioning Derek’s cock again, he was curious what would follow.

“Don’t go walking in the woods by yourself anymore,” Derek added finally, and Stiles tried to figure out what to say to that. The guy had saved his life, but he also obviously thought Stiles was a moron.

“Thanks for the sage advice, Hale.”

“I mean it,” said Derek. “Things are weird out there. Weirder than they’ve ever been. It’s better to just stay away.”

“If I wasn’t so wrapped up in crazy werewolf drama all the time, maybe I would try that.”

“You should never have been involved in the first place.”

Stiles laughed a little bitterly. “You didn’t seem to think so when I was playing getaway driver for you all those times. Or when I was keeping Scott from making monumentally stupid decisions. Or when I was lying to my dad about pretty much everything that goes on around here anymore. Those times you were pretty fucking glad I was involved, oo you can’t really tell me I shouldn’t have been. I know that. I know that better than anybody. It’s not my world. But if I can’t go for a walk in a nature preserve without being assaulted by a plant, that’s not me getting too involved someplace I don’t belong. That’s all your weird magic shit spreading too far all over the place.”

Derek nodded, accepting all that as his due. “I can’t stop it,” he said.

“You’re a pretty terrible alpha, dude.”

It took Stiles a minute to realize the thing on Derek’s face was a smile and not a snarl. “Do you need anything?” Derek asked, like Stiles was a little kid in bed with a cold.

Stiles shook his head, then thought better of it. “Water?” he said.

Derek pointed to a glass on the bedside table, and when Stiles flailed around untangling himself from the covers to sit up, Derek put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to help. He still smelled overwhelmingly of sex, musky and raw. Stiles managed a couple of gulps of water without choking. Derek’s fingers resting at the top of his spine just reminded him how they had felt inside him. “Are there going to be more of those plants?” asked Stiles. He imagined it happening to someone else, a jogger or camper who still got to labor under the illusion that Beacon Hills was a normal town. Someone even more unprepared for any of this.

“Probably not,” said Derek. “They’re rare. But I’ll look out for them.”

“Good. Thanks.”

Derek was silent for a minute before pushing himself up off the bed. He gestured at the window. “I’m going to go.”

Stiles nodded awkwardly. “Okay.” As Derek turned, he added, “If we could just never mention this to anybody, that would be spectacular.”

Derek nodded. “Done.”


End file.
